


October Thoughts : Sterek Week 2019

by Cerulea



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ficlet Collection, M/M, Sterek Week 2019
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-12 21:55:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21233177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerulea/pseuds/Cerulea
Summary: My collection of little works inspired by the prompts of Sterek Week 2019 on Tumblr.





	October Thoughts : Sterek Week 2019

**Author's Note:**

> Some things to know:  
This is Post-Canon and Alison is alive because I say so. The bolded italics are Stiles’ inner-monologue (hopefully that is clear without my saying so, you guys can let me know if you think it would have translated).

**1\. <strike>Nancy Drew</strike> Stiles Stilinski and The Mystery of The Disappearing Sourwolf**

Stiles thought it would be glorious - home from college for the summer, back in Beacon Hills as a legal adult where he can fart around with his old packmates for three glorious months. It was going to be utterly _lit._ That was until Lydia took an internship in the city, and Scott is wiling the daylight and twilight hours sucking face with Alison and reading her love poems while she sharpens her knives or whatever. Malia is off wreaking havoc in Europe, and the younger set... well, Stiles loves them and everything but there’s something kind of awkward about hanging out with them without everyone else, or anyone else his own age.

He wonders if this is how Derek feels literally all the time.

Derek.

Derek Hale. Perpetual sour-wolf and recently new owner of a refurbished loft apartment in the building he no longer solely resides in. Derek’s basically been his lifeline this summer - putting up with his constant need for camaraderie. In school he does quite well on his own. He’s made friends, but he relishes his solitude. Here, back in Beacon Hills, he feels sixteen again; awkward and lonely and worried he’s missing out. Derek helps him fill the empty hours with video games and snacks and practicing drawing runes and running (wheezing) in the Preserve to, quote, “Get Stiles’ scrawny ass in shape for the bureau”, and Derek only mentions how lame and clingy Stiles is like once a day. Derek’s basically been his most consistent friend for two months. Even his dad was too busy being the county sheriff and all that to spend his every waking moment with Stiles and... _**Ok, yeah. That’s fair. Speaking of -**_

“You got this nosiness from your mother.”

Still scoffs, “Um, _Sheriff_,” he gestures obviously to his father. “It’s literally your job to be in other people’s business.”

“No, Stiles, it’s my job to serve and protect and occasionally connect the dots.”

“Exactly. You’re nosy too-”

“I’m discerning. _You’re_ nosy.”

“Whatever. I have a healthy curiosity. It’s kept me alive a time or two so I won’t be shamed about it.”

“Kid,” his father sits, almost deflating into the chair, his exhaustion clear in a way that always makes Stiles heart twinge a little out of fear and love. “The line between curiosity and stalking is getting thinner every time you barge in here.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, collapsing uncoordinatedly into the chair across from his father’s desk. “I don’t barge.” His father’s eyebrows raise. “I don’t barge and I’m not stalking.” His father looks at him expectantly. “I’m not! It’s just...” Stiles fidgets. “It’s just - things have been... good.”

“And that’s bad?”

“No, it’s just not typical. Like Deaton says - regression to the mean. Things get awful here, and they get good, briefly, but it always settles somewhere in the middle. And things being a little too Andy Griffith around here, coinciding with Derek going off on his own top secret weekly missions that he literally won’t say squat about, it’s just...” He dares to look at his father, sees his nonjudgmental face and admits, “I keep waiting for the next terrible thing.”

His father sighs, gives him a sad smile, and Stiles kind of hates it.

He isn’t stalking Derek, per se. He’s just... keeping an eye. With them spending so much time together this summer it wasn’t hard to put together that there was a pattern to the times Derek wasn’t available to hang out. Not that Stiles was lame enough to keep track of something like nights without Derek on purpose, he’s just very good at connecting the dots.

It’s hereditary.

The thing is, when pressed, Derek won’t tell what he’s up to. He won’t give a single peep about where he goes, who he’s seeing, why Stiles can’t know. And yeah, a large part of Stiles’ curiosity is just that. But a part of it really is legitimate concern. Derek has grown and matured a lot over the past few years, they all have. But Stiles will probably never stop worrying that one of them is about to stumble into something truly catastrophic.

“I’m never going to believe that the axe isn’t moments from falling until I figure out what he’s up to,” Stiles admits to his father. His father gives him that sad smile again _**aaaand that’s enough of that**!_ Stiles leans back, decided, hands drumming on his father’s desk. “That’s why I need to solve the Mystery of Derek Hale.”

“Stiles,” the Sheriff sends him a painfully pointed look. “You are not Nancy Drew, and Derek Hale is not a mystery. He’s a person.”

_ **Point taken. ** _

_ **Sort of. ** _

* * *

Stiles isn’t stalking him. He’s... practicing.

If he ever wants to survive in this werewolf-eat-dog world he’s going to have to up his stealth mode. Werewolves are incredible at sensing tagalongs, and Derek is like, the most legit werewolf they know so really Stiles couldn’t have found a better practice run. Besides, he and Derek are definitely friends now. So... he’s comfortable admitting that maybe he’s a little bit concerned for the guy. Sure, he seems ok - he’s no longer haunting either the burnt out husk of his childhood home or a tetanus-riddled underground train depot, so that’s progress. From what Stiles can tell, Derek buys his groceries and pays his bills and manages to interface with the public sans growling or near-mauling. He almost seems... well-adjusted? _**Oh hell no**_, Stiles shakes his head that the thought, _**something is definitely gonna hit the fan**_. Hence the friendly following that is definitely not stalking.

This is the most daring he’s gotten so far - he’s following Derek through a community center attached to a local college from about a block’s length away. Derek walks confidently, definitely knows where he’s going, and even nods a hello at a few passers-by. When Derek turns a corner, Stiles slowly crouch-walks against the wall, giving Derek an extra moment to be out of range before he peeks around. But when he does, “What the...” He’s gone. Totally gone.

And yeah, Derek is fast, but there’s something about the absolute and sudden lack of him that makes Stiles’ hair stand on edge. The back of his neck feels warm, tingles in warning - no, wait... That’s air. Hot, gentle air- Stiles turns...

and screams, flailing himself to the floor.

There’s Derek, standing over his prone, embarrassed form, face unreadable.

“Found him,” Stiles mutters to himself as he struggles to his feet. In an attempt not to appear cowed, or at all guilty, Stiles refuses to yield any ground and rises to his full height without taking even an inch step back from Derek’s looming form. This maneuver has the unfortunate side effect of bringing him toe to toe and nearly nose to nose with Derek, who is still watching him in what Stiles assumes Derek thinks is an impassive stare. Stiles knows better than to believe it. _**Still waters run deep**_, his father has said, more than once.

“What are you doing here?” Derek asks, only a shadow of his former edge to it.

“Uh...” Stiles’ brain is telling him to look around, try to inspire a lie. But he can’t look away from Derek’s eyes. They’re that stormy green-hazel that mesmerizes him for reasons he absolutely refuses to understand. When his eyes drift down to his lips his reverie is cut by Derek’s bark of, “Stiles!”

“Ah!” Stiles jerks and squeaks out before gathering his thoughts and blurting, “You!” Derek raises his eyebrows expectantly. “I thought I saw... a were...turkey.”

Derek’s expression goes first blank, then incredulous. Powerfully incredulous.

“In... the preserve! It was ravenous! And it’s eyes - blue! Glowy-blue! Like, _you know_.” Derek takes a deep breath, slowly, eyes narrowing at Stiles as his arms cross his chest and wow, he’s wearing short sleeves and his forearms are so... _**thick and hairy. I wonder if that hair is soft- **_

“Stiles!”

_**Damn it**_. “Yeah?”

“Why are you following me?”

“I told you! Gobble-goblin!”

“Stiles,” he growls somehow both threatening and exhausted. “Why have you been following me for the past two weeks.”

_**Damn it**_. He stares at him blankly, lips pursed in the lie that hasn’t formed yet. “What?” He laughs off. “I’m not - dude, paranoid much?”

Derek rolls his eyes before pulling out his phone, scrolling briefly, and pointing it in Stiles’ face. There, clear as day on Derek’s phone, is a photo of Stiles utterly failing to acquire a parking voucher - his body is hung way too far out the driver’s side window of the Jeep, tongue between his teeth as his fingers strain to pull the voucher from the machine. “You literally paid for parking,” Derek pans.

“Oh... that?” Stiles laughs it off, struggling for ground before blurting, “Dude, you took pictures of me on your phone without my knowledge or consent?! Not cool, Derek.”

Two guys way down the hall look their way at the outburst and Stiles waves awkwardly. When he turns back to Derek, he is jaw-clenching, murder-brows level furious. _**Ok, maybe not the right way to play this**_. Suddenly Derek’s got his bicep in a steely grip and is dragging him back out toward the main lot. “Woah- hey - what’re we doing?”

“You, are leaving.”

“Hey! That’s not - I still have to do the thing that I came here to do that has nothing to do with you-”

Derek releases his arm and whirls on him so fast that Stiles nearly crumples under the sudden responsibility of holding his own weight. “I’m not in the mood for games, Stiles!” He looks legitimately frustrated. Honestly, sincerely serious about it. Not his usual grumpy, sarcastic cynicism rounded out with threat. Derek seems, in this moment, very real. And Stiles is momentarily flummoxed.

Without a layer of snarky subterfuge between them, things always feel a little too... raw. Electric. Not always in a sexy way.

When Stiles says nothing Derek huffs and turns to walk away. But if there’s one thing Stiles cannot abide, it’s the sight of Derek’s retreating back. He chases, clumsily, hurtling himself to an uncoordinated stop right in front of him. “Ok, fine! Yes! I’m stalking you!” There’s a titter of laughter to the side and they both look in time to see two women, both smiling unabashedly, watching them with a tad too much mirth. One wolf-whistles and the other crosses her arms over her chest as if waiting for an explanation, though her weirdly-knowing smirk never wavers. Derek doesn’t say anything. He rolls his eyes extra dramatically, but Stiles quirks his head at the sight of a blush rising high on his cheeks. “It’s not - I’m not _stalking_-stalking-”

“Stiles,” Derek sighs, sounded exhausted as one of the girls jokes in the background, _suuuuure_. Derek looks him square in the eye and asks, “Why?”

Faced with Derek and his stupid, handsome face and this moment of naked question, Stiles suddenly understands what his father was getting at by saying Derek wasn’t a mystery, but a person. Because here, standing in front of Stiles in a worn t-shirt and jeans and - _**oh my god are those converse sneakers? Not important**_ \- looking startlingly human and so damned familiar, Stiles realizes that treating Derek like a puzzle that he has any right to solve is pretty messed up.

Because Derek is his friend.

Right now, Derek is damn near his closest friend.

He trusts him, but he isn’t giving Derek a lot of reasons to trust him back.

“Character flaw,” Stiles admits self-consciously. Derek’s eyebrows furrow in sincere confusion and _**damn it, that’s so cute**_. Stiles shakes his head to focus his thoughts. “I got curious. There was something you didn't want me to know so I naturally am acting like a total jackass in order to know it.” He dares to look Derek in the eye and mutters, “Sorry.”

“You’ve been driving out here, every day, paying for parking, loitering around a community center like a creep, because you were curious.”

“Yeah. Thanks for not making it sound totally weird...”

“Stiles...” He laughs, shaking his head, and Stiles winces because the sound falls somewhere between actual amusement and cold disbelief. He takes a deep breath and looks at Stiles, and says, “I’m-”

Which of course is when Stiles lunges forward and slaps his palm over Derek’s mouth saying, “Don’t!” They’re both stunned for a moment, before Stiles continues, “You don’t have to tell me. Don’t tell me. I don’t deserve to know.”

They stare at each other for a long moment before Derek rolls his eyes and then grips Stiles’ wrist, wrenching it away from his face easily with only a small squawk of surprise pain. “I’m taking ASL. And... EMT certification courses.”

Stiles blinks. “You’re...”

Derek shrugs, “I can’t sit around in an empty loft forever. I’m done hunting - I’m done with my life revolving around,” he glances around warily, “what I am. What outside forces think about what I am.” Stiles continues to stare at him. Derek huffs, flustered, “I didn’t tell you because I didn't want to hear anyone’s snarky bullshit about how much I was gonna fuck it up-”

“You won’t fuck it up,” Stiles says, like it’s obvious. Derek looks genuinely surprised which propels Stiles into admitting, “Derek, you’re one of the most stubborn life-saving weirdos I’ve ever met in my life. There’s no way you’re bad at this. Actually,” Stiles’ brain starts whirring a mile a minute, “actually this is awesome! Because you’ll be on one end of 911 while my Dad and Parrish are on the other and you guys can basically double-team the emergency response scenario of Beacon Hills. And with you’re - _everything_ \- you’re gonna have an awesome edge to the entire thing! Derek, this is an awesome idea!”

“Alright, alright,” Derek blushes, “I’m not certified yet. I still have to pass all the tests.”

Stiles waves, “Psh, dude, you’re like, the smartest guy I know. You’ll be fine.”

When Stiles looks up, Derek is staring at him, something blankly soft in the surprise of his expression. It occurs to Stiles, that he doesn’t really compliment Derek often - i.e. ever. In fact, people kind of talk to Derek like he’s an idiot all the time and wow, did Stiles just become retroactively furious about that.

“Derek,” he says seriously, “you’re crazy smart, stupid heroic, and a really good guy. And this is coming from a guy whose face you once smashed into a steering wheel.”

It’s only when Derek’s cheeks go full blush and he looks entirely unsure how to deal that Stiles realizes they still have an audience. Albeit, an audience that is now less-than-subtly trying to pretend they’re not listening, but still. Stiles smacks his hands against Derek’s chest - _**wow, hard**_ \- and tells him, all loose smirk, “Go get ‘em, big guy.”

Which of course if when the less giggly of the two women standing nearby calls out, “Damn, Stiles. You’re a smooth talker. You busy tonight?”

Derek snatches his wrist and growls, “Yes,” before pulling Stiles away from the woman. Who is now laughing, her friend and the two guys from earlier who have at some point joined them whooping and cheering, even as Derek drags Stiles across the sidewalk.

“I am?” Stiles asks, heart thudding.

Derek just barely fails to hide a smile. “Yes.”

”Good... cause I might need some mouth to mouth-“

”Ugh, you had to ruin it.”

Stiles snorts in obvious disagreement, but Derek never lets go of his hand. 


End file.
